


An Iceberg, Waiting For The Titanic

by CallieB



Series: Sterek Bingo 2017 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shop, Endgame Sterek, M/M, NSFW, SBcoffeeshop, Sterek Bingo 2017, Threesome - F/M/M, sbtopbottom, top/bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:52:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieB/pseuds/CallieB
Summary: “You interested?”Stiles narrows his eyes. “You know I am,” he says. “He’s hot, right? And he’s not going to get all squeamish at the last second?”“He doesn’t seem the type,” Erica says. “And he’s fucking delicious. You’re going to be a mess.”Written for theCoffee ShopandTop/Bottomsquares on my Sterek Bingo card.





	1. Let's Marvin Gaye

**Author's Note:**

> Second entry for Sterek Bingo 2017! I had a _lot_ of fun with this one - it's probably the porniest porn I've ever written, so yay for that. Enjoy! And feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](https://13callieb.tumblr.com/) :)

“There’s a chance we might not be able to do this for much longer,” Erica says thoughtfully, thrusting her hips forwards so that the large strap-on she’s wearing pushes further into Stiles’ ass. He groans, the sound muffled by the gag he’s wearing. “I think Boyd might ask me out.”

“Cool,” Stiles says, because a gag has never been enough to actually stop him from talking. His voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “I like Boyd.”

“What?” Erica says. She thrusts into him again, moaning a little as the dildo presses against her clit. “Mm. Shall we talk about this later?”

⚤

Afterwards, Stiles drinks about half a gallon of water, and Erica collapses against his chest, her long blonde curls fanning out across his stomach. Sex with Erica is always immensely satisfying, and also terribly exhausting; Stiles can usually only manage it once every month or so. He idly plays with a strand of her hair.

“What were you saying about Boyd?”

“Oh, yeah,” Erica says drowsily. She kisses his chest. “I’m not sure, but I think he might ask me out. I don’t know. I still think I come on too strong for him,” she adds unhappily.

“Boyd’s an idiot if he doesn’t realise how lucky he is with you,” Stiles says supportively, pressing his lips against Erica’s temple. Privately, he thinks that Boyd’s issue with asking Erica out is more to do with insecurity than because he doesn’t want to, but Erica would never believe him if he told her that.

“I’m glad you like him,” Erica says. “I want us to stay friends, even if we stop doing this.”

“Hey,” Stiles says firmly. “We’re friends way before the benefits, okay?”

She smiles. “Okay,” she says.

Stiles resumes stroking her hair. “So was this, like, a last hurrah?” he asks. He grins, shifting a little on the bed; his ass is pleasantly sore. “It was a nice one.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Erica says. “I like having sex with you. I mean, I’ll stop if Boyd asks me out, but not until then. You’re into all my kinky shit.”

“I love your kinky shit,” Stiles says warmly. He looks down at her. “Are we still looking for a third?”

“The only thing on my fantasy bucket list I haven’t done,” she says wistfully. “Yeah, if I can find someone. I have a couple of people in mind.”

“Cool,” Stiles says. He grins. “Want to go again?”

“Sure,” Erica says, pushing herself up on one elbow. “But this time, it’s my turn to wear the handcuffs.”

⚣

Stiles and Erica’s _arrangement_ began about six months after he moved to New York. She was the only person he knew in the city, although she was a far cry from the pale epileptic girl he knew back in high school. He found it harder to meet people who got his weird sense of humour than he thought he would, and starting his own online business kept him so busy that he didn’t really have time to go out with anyone anyway.

It’s kind of the perfect arrangement. They were already awesome friends, so they can be totally honest with each other about what they want in bed; this has led to some of the raunchiest, most adventurous sex Stiles has ever had. And they’ve both been completely clear from the beginning that they’re not in love with each other and never will be. That’s the kind of thing that people always say, but Stiles genuinely knows it to be true in this case. While he may miss the good sex if Erica does go out with Boyd, he’ll be sincerely happy for her. She’s his friend first, and he wants her to be happy.

It’s actually a bit odd that Stiles is thinking about Erica on a Monday morning as he sips his incredibly over-sweetened coffee at his usual table in the coffee shop. Erica tends to be the last thing on Stiles’ mind on weekday mornings. This is partly because he’s focusing on his work, which he always does over coffee with his laptop plugged into the outlet and an untouched chocolate brownie sitting on the table next to his stacks of notes, but it’s mostly because this is when Stiles sees Hot Dude.

Hot Dude comes into the coffee shop every morning, presumably before work, and orders a black coffee with two sugars and a ham and cheese croissant. He always takes the table by the window, which coincidentally happens to be right in Stiles’ line of vision, and aggressively reads the paper while drinking his coffee. He never stays longer than about twenty minutes, and he never talks to Stiles.

This is not down to lack of trying. Stiles is all for a challenge, and he’s never responded to anyone quite so _viscerally_ as he finds himself responding to Hot Dude.

Today, as always, he looks up and grins as widely as possible when Hot Dude sits down. Hot Dude frowns, his impressively thick brows creasing together, and picks up his paper. Stiles sighs. One of these days, Hot Dude is going to stop looking at him like he’s nuts.

Sometimes, Stiles actually talks to him. Not every day, because he figures that would come across creepy, but if he gets up for a refill or to use the bathroom, he’ll say something as he passes Hot Dude’s table. He’s still feeling all relaxed and happy from the sex with Erica, so he decides today is as good as any for another shot.

“Shitty weather, right?” he tries as he walks past, stopping by Hot Dude’s table.

Hot Dude’s eyes flicker up from his newspaper, and slide to look out of the window, then back up at Stiles. “Yes,” he says curtly.

“I see you in here a lot,” Stiles says.

Hot Dude frowns. “Yes.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dude, one of these days you’re going to have to give me more than monosyllables.” Well, no one has ever accused him of being _subtle_. “I’m just going to keep on bugging you, you know.”

Hot Dude takes a sip of coffee. “Okay,” he says.

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles says patiently.

“I know,” Hot Dude says.

Stiles sighs. “Fuck it,” he says, and heads back to his table.

⚤

“I think I found a third,” Erica tells Stiles, passing him a plate of spaghetti. He’s over at hers for a strictly _friends_ evening, which means they’re watching anime instead of having sex. Sometimes, Stiles actually thinks he prefers these nights.

Stiles takes a large forkful of pasta. “Yeah? Who?”

“His name is Derek,” Erica says. “He’s _gorgeous_ , definitely your type. He owns the carpentry business across from my building.”

“What makes you think he’d be interested?” Stiles asks. Erica on her own is beautiful, but finding someone who’d be willing to go for Stiles at the same time has proved pretty difficult.

“I saw him checking out porn on his phone when I went in to see if he could fix my dresser,” Erica says. “So I asked him about it—”

“You asked him about his porn?” Stiles interrupts. “Erica.”

She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t have, but he was looking up stuff about threesomes! I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Only you,” Stiles says. “How did you even see it?”

“I looked over his shoulder when he was in the back room. He left the door open,” Erica says unrepentantly.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “So you asked him about his porn.”

“He was, like, a bit surprised—”

“Shocking.”

“—but he seemed interested. So I showed him a photo of you, and he didn’t run away screaming, so that seemed like a good sign.” She grins at him, showing her teeth, and Stiles rolls his eyes. “I told him we’re clean – offered to show him the papers from when we got tested last month—” Stiles and Erica get tested every month like clockwork, because they’re both fanatically hygienic and into so much kink that it just seems like a good idea “—and he said he’s going to get tested too.”

“Right, so?” he says.

“So we’re meeting him next Friday for a drink,” Erica says triumphantly. She smiles wickedly. “And then we’re going back to yours.”

“Why mine?” Stiles complains. “Why do we always have to do it at mine?”

“Because I hate changing my sheets,” she replies sweetly. “You interested?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You know I am,” he says. “He’s hot, right? And he’s not going to get all squeamish at the last second?”

“He doesn’t seem the type,” Erica says. “And he’s fucking delicious. You’re going to be a mess.”

“I’m always a mess,” Stiles mutters.

Erica laughs. “True,” she concedes. “But this time, you’ll get to have sex at the same time.”

⚥⚥

Stiles is late to drinks on Friday. This is not his fault, or at least not _really_ ; he got so absorbed in a spell book he’s translating for one of his clients that he totally forgot the time. Fortunately, however, Erica is used to his lapses in concentration, so she’s already ordered him a drink, which is waiting invitingly on the table when he gets to the bar.

Erica is talking to a guy with dark hair who has his back to Stiles; this must be the mysterious carpenter. He’s a little nervous, but mostly kind of excited. Erica has great taste in both men and sex.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite the new guy. And freezes.

“Hey,” Erica says sunnily, but Stiles isn’t listening.

“Hot Dude?” he whispers. Because yes, the man sitting across the table from him, sipping a beer completely unconcernedly, is Hot Dude from the coffee shop. As Stiles looks at him, the corner of his mouth twitches just a little. Stiles’ eyes widen.

Erica frowns. “This is Derek,” she says. She looks between the two of them. “Do you guys know each other?”

Stiles ignores her, pointing a finger in Hot Dude’s face. “You,” he says sternly, “are a fucking menace.”

Hot Dude – Derek, Stiles supposes – takes another blithe sip of his drink. “Okay,” he says.

“No,” Stiles says firmly. “No more one-word answers. You knew it was me. Erica showed you a picture.”

“I don’t get it,” Erica says.

Derek doesn’t take his eyes of Stiles. “Did you call me Hot Dude?” he asks. It’s the longest sentence Stiles has ever heard him say, in that there’s more than one word in it.

“Yes,” Stiles says. He should probably be embarrassed about that, but then Derek has come here to have sex with him and Erica. “You’re hot and you’re a dude. Why don’t you ever talk to me?”

Derek grins, white teeth flashing. “It’s more fun to watch you struggle,” he says.

“You’re a dick,” Stiles says, with feeling.

“Okay, seriously,” Erica says, sounding annoyed. “What am I missing here?”

“Stiles and I see each other every morning in the coffee shop,” Derek says.

“Wait,” Erica says, because Stiles has told her about Hot Dude. “Derek is Hot Dude?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. He frowns. “Hang on, though. You came here, knowing it was me.”

“Yes,” Derek says. He waits.

Stiles points at him again. “You like me too!” he crows. “I bet you come in every morning just to see me.” He laughs. Derek doesn’t.

“Yes,” he says patiently, as though Stiles is being slow by not catching onto this fact faster.

Stiles stops laughing. “Oh,” he says.

Erica sighs. “I’m not going to get to have my fantasy, am I?”

“Of course you are,” Stiles says comfortingly. He pats her arm. “Finish your drink, and we’ll go back to mine and have sex.” He turns to Derek. “Erica is really, really good at sex.”

Derek’s eyebrows lift; he looks just slightly alarmed. Erica cackles. “Don’t sell yourself short, Stiles,” she says. “So are you.”

Now Derek definitely looks nervous. “Lucky me,” he says, although the words don’t quite ring true. Stiles grins.

“We’ll be nice to you,” he says. “I promise.”

“I hope not,” Derek says. He takes another sip of beer. “That would be an incredible disappointment.”

⚥⚥

“I’ve never had a threesome before,” Derek says, after they’ve done the extremely boring and slightly awkward job of exchanging test results. He’s sitting in Stiles’ living room, looking completely at home on the little blue sofa with a cup of black coffee (two sugars) in his hand. Erica is curled up like a cat in the armchair, which means Stiles has to share the sofa with Hot Dude. It’s a terrible sacrifice.

“Oh, don’t worry, neither have we,” Erica says comfortably. She has a cup of tea, because she’s a crazy person and doesn’t drink coffee. She smiles, her eyes glittering. “It’s on my sex bucket list.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You have a sex bucket list?”

“Dude,” Stiles says. “Have you _met_ Erica?”

“Point,” Derek acknowledges.

Erica waves this away with a well-manicured hand. “Anyway, I’ve done some research.” She smiles wickedly. “Watched some porn.”

“Of course you have,” Stiles sighs.

Erica turns to him with one plucked eyebrow lifted. “Are you saying you haven’t?” she challenges.

“Shut up,” Stiles says.

“Anyway,” Erica continues, lifting her chin. “FetLife says that open channels of communication are key.”

Derek turns to Stiles and mouths: _FetLife?_ Stiles sniggers; Erica coughs in a manner that indicates that she saw _everything_. There’s something about having Derek here that makes the planning part of sex-with-Erica – usually intense, very serious, but also kind of raunchy – oddly playful.

“Open channels of communication,” Stiles prompts, when it becomes clear that Erica is waiting for a response. She pokes her tongue out at him.

“Well, I know what Stiles likes,” she says sweetly. “I don’t know what Derek likes, though.”

“Um,” Derek says eloquently.

“For instance,” Erica purrs. “Would you like it if I sucked your cock? Or would you prefer it to be Stiles?”

“Oh,” Stiles says, catching on. “I like this game.”

Derek is looking somewhat pink. “I – I don’t know?”

“You could watch me sucking Stiles off,” Erica suggests. “You could fuck him at the same time.”

Derek swallows audibly.

“Or I could lick your ass while you fuck Erica,” Stiles says, with a little less finesse but no less imagination than Erica. “If that’s something you’d be into.”

“Yes?” Derek says, his voice a delicious mix of desire and uncertainty. “Please?”

“I think he’s shy,” Erica says. “Maybe he should just watch for a while. Maybe we should show him what we like.”

Stiles grins at her. “Fair warning, dude,” he says to Derek. “We’re into a lot of kinky shit.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek mutters, shifting in his seat. His jeans are looking significantly tighter than they were before. Erica gives a satisfied smile, uncurling herself from the chair to slink over to the couch.

She pushes Stiles in the chest so that he falls back against the sofa cushions, her eyes still on Derek. “Stiles likes it a little rough,” she says, her nails scraping against Stiles’ neck. He shudders underneath her practised touch. “He’ll bluster about staying in control, but really…” She swings herself onto the couch so that she’s straddling Stiles’ lap, grasping his wrists in her hands and pinning them together behind his head. Blood rushes straight to his groin, and he moans aloud. Erica grins. “Really, he likes a little manhandling.”

Derek makes a sound halfway between a growl and a groan, and Stiles finds himself instinctively thrusting upwards against Erica in response. She kisses him, her mouth hard and fast against his, tongue dipping between his lips so that Derek can see. Her fingers tighten around his wrists as he struggles to gain some purchase.

Erica turns sideways, so that Stiles is kissing the curve of her pale neck instead of her mouth, and looks at Derek. “Hold him,” she gasps. “Hold his wrists.”

Derek responds immediately, hands coming up to grip Stiles’ arms. He tugs sharply sideways, so that Stiles finds himself sliding down with his head in Derek’s lap. He puts his feet up over the edge of the couch, Erica moving on top of him so that she’s still straddling him. Derek’s hands are warm in Stiles’, his grip firm around Stiles’ wrists.

“Kiss me,” he growls to Erica, who complies immediately. She leans upwards to press her mouth against Derek’s, the movement shifting her body weight against Stiles’ cock and making him moan underneath her. Stiles has the most beautiful view of Derek and Erica kissing, hot and wet and delicious above his head.

Derek plants Stiles’ hands on his knees, leaving them there so he can run his own hands down Stiles’ shoulders and across his chest. He’s still kissing Erica, making little mewling noises in the back of his throat, but he reaches for the buttons of Stiles’ shirt, each brush of his fingers sending pulses of electricity through Stiles’ skin. Slowly, he unbuttons the shirt, shifting the fabric aside so that his chest is exposed.

“Oh _God_ ,” Stiles pants. “Oh God, _please_ —”

Erica breaks away from the kiss, her face flushed. “I love it when he gets desperate like this,” she says to Derek. She slides a hand down Stiles’ chest, tweaking his nipple. Stiles groans. “Hold his wrists, and I’ll show you how to torment him.”

“No – please—” Stiles moans as Derek’s hands encircle his wrists again. He feels Derek’s fingers interlocking with his own, as Erica starts working down the zipper on his jeans. Her mouth is close to his groin, her breath hot on his skin.

“Stiles is all about sensation,” she whispers, tugging his pants down so that they’re bunched around his knees. Her mouth briefly touches the inside of his thigh; he writhes beneath her. “You can tease him for hours like this.”

“ _Erica_ ,” Stiles groans. He looks up; Derek’s eyes are alight and glittering with interest.

“I want to see his cock,” Derek says throatily, his voice husky with desire. Stiles feels as though he’s being held together by nothing more than threads, like just a few words with that voice, just a few touches by these hands, might pull him apart completely. Erica obediently slides her fingers into the waistband of Stiles’ boxers, pulling them down over his thighs. Stiles is hard, his cock aching and leaking.

Derek sighs, a warm delicious sound. “Kiss him,” he says. “Leave your mark on him.”

Erica smiles beautifully, and presses her lips to the head of Stiles’ cock. Stiles gasps loudly. “God – _please_ …”

“Such a good boy,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles shivers, because there’s something about Derek, about every word dripping from Derek’s lips, that sets the whole world on fire.

Erica drags her mouth from Stiles’ cock, making him moan in protest, and slides her nails up his thighs. “I don’t know about that,” she says teasingly. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had him over my knee.”

Stiles feels the rumble of Derek’s chuckle vibrating through him. “I think I would,” he says. “God, it’s tempting.” And just that is enough for Stiles to _want_ to be thrown over Derek’s lap, to be used and fucked by the both of them for as long as they want. He’s not quite sure how it turned into this – both Erica and Derek lavishing him with attention and tormenting him with touches, he naked in front of them while they’re both still fully clothed – but he’s definitely not complaining.

Although… he’d quite like to see what’s underneath that unassuming grey Henley that Derek is wearing. His eyes flick open, looking up at Derek’s face. “Take your shirt off,” he sighs. “Want to see you.”

Erica giggles. “He’s so demanding,” she says, tongue flicking against Stiles’ shaft as she speaks. He shudders through each touch.

Derek squeezes his wrists. “Say please,” he says. Erica kisses his cock again, and Stiles lets out a strangled moan.

“Please!” he cries. “Please, _please_ , Derek, let me see you, Derek, please…”

“I like it when you say my name,” Derek murmurs. He releases Stiles’ hands, pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion. His chest is sculpted and just fucking gorgeous, smooth and warm underneath Stiles’ head. “My good boy.”

“Yours, all yours,” Stiles pants, because Erica is licking his cock from balls to tip, and he’s struggling not to come. “ _Fuck_ , Erica, please, I can’t – I need—”

“What do you need?” she asks. Her eyes are sparkling, although Stiles is having difficulty focusing on them properly. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“I want Derek to fuck me,” Stiles says, before his brain can catch up and tell him that they probably haven’t done enough negotiation for him just to come out and say _that_.

Derek, however, doesn’t seem to mind, if the whining growl that escapes him is any indication. His fingers thread between Stiles’, his hands warm and pulsing with a throbbing heartbeat, and above Stiles’ head his chest is broad and humming.

“Then I want you to fuck _me_ ,” Erica says, her mouth hovering over Stiles’ dick. “At the same time.” Stiles’ eyes flick open at once; she’s biting her lip, a mischievous expression on her face as though she knows _exactly_ how fucking hot Stiles finds that idea. Which she does, of course; this is Erica, after all.

“Oh God,” Derek says hoarsely, which is a sentiment Stiles can get behind, to be honest.

Erica stands up fluidly, stripping off her shirt. “I think it’s about time we were all naked, don’t you?” she asks in a matter-of-fact sort of tone. She’s wearing a pink tank top underneath that’s just slightly see-through.

“Hey,” Stiles says, because even though they’ve pretty effectively taken him apart, he’s still _Stiles_. “If you’re going to strip, you could at least make it a show.”

Erica’s eyes flicker pensively over to Derek. “He’s still wearing most of his clothes, too,” she points out.

Stiles pushes himself up onto his elbows, a small smile curving his lips. “I guess you’ll both have to give me a show,” he says, like it’s a huge sacrifice. He tips his head back to look at Derek. “You game?”

Derek gives him what can only be described as a _smouldering_ look, and stands up. Stiles immediately struggles to sit up, swinging his legs back down to the floor, because if two of the most gorgeous people he’s ever met in real life are about to start giving him a strip tease, he’s not going to miss a single second.

Erica pushes her hands through her waves of blonde hair, letting them ripple between her fingers onto her shoulders. She always looks like some kind of porn star when she does that, and she fucking knows it. She grins at Stiles. “You’re not going to last,” she taunts him.

Somehow that thought isn’t remotely worrying. “Probably not,” Stiles agrees cheerfully.

“You’d better,” Derek growls. Stiles blinks at him. His beautiful eyebrows are pushed together in a way that sends a hot throb of desire straight to Stiles’ cock. “You don’t get to leave this party early.”

Oh _God_ , Stiles is practically coming from those words alone. He swallows. “You – I – are you saying –?”

“I’m saying, don’t come,” Derek says smoothly. “Watch, touch if you like—” he smiles unexpectedly, the gesture warm and delicious “–but don’t come.”

“I _like_ this game,” Erica says appreciatively, and then Derek is reaching for her face and kissing her, right in front of Stiles.

Their mouths blend together, Derek’s tongue dipping between Erica’s lips, his hands reaching for the hem of her tank top. That’s when Stiles realises what’s happening. They’re not taking their own clothes off. They’re stripping each other, and fuck if that’s not the sexiest thing Stiles has ever seen.

Fast as a whip, Derek takes Erica’s hips and turns her so that she’s facing Stiles on the sofa, positioning himself so he’s standing behind her. He kisses her neck, and she tips her head back with a groan. Stiles’ cock is leaking as he watches, his eyes wide. Then, and only then, Derek peels Erica’s top up and over her head, so that her stomach and lacy purple bra are revealed.

He goes for her jeans next, reaching around to unbutton them and pushing them down her hips. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Stiles whispers, because he can’t keep his mouth shut. “Oh God, Erica, this is pretty much the hottest thing ever, seriously. Oh, yep, she’s wearing matching panties, of course she fucking is… Oh, man, Derek, Derek, touch her, let me see you touch her—”

Derek moans softly when Stiles says his name, so he obviously wasn’t lying about liking it. He runs his hands down Erica’s creamy sides, sliding his fingers just underneath the waistband of her panties, gripping her hips tight enough to leave marks. Erica is as pliant as putty under his touch, sighing and writhing beneath him. Finally, Derek pops open her bra, and she lets it fall off her arms, and Stiles genuinely has to work not to come, because come on. Look at her. Look at them both.

But he does work at it, because Derek told him not to come, and he doesn’t want to. It’s one thing they’ve never really gotten into in a big way, he and Erica – their sex is usually so intense and passionate that orgasm delay never really features. But he’s finding that this slow, pulsing heat that’s building between the three of them, this new element that Derek is bringing to the table – yeah, that’s something Stiles could get used to.

“You have a bedroom?” Derek asks breathily. When Erica points helplessly, he swings her up into his arms immediately. He looks back at Stiles over his shoulder, his eyes burning. “Coming?”

“Fuck, yes,” Stiles says, and scrambles up off the sofa immediately.

Derek lays Erica down almost reverently on Stiles’ bed. She smiles lazily up at him. “It’s your turn,” she says throatily. “I want to see you.” She looks sideways at Stiles, who’s standing by the door, not quite sure where to put himself. “Stiles _definitely_ wants to see you.”

Derek grins, looking over at Stiles, and reaches for the button of his jeans. Stiles holds up a hand. “Wait,” he says, suddenly knowing exactly where he wants to be. He smiles. “Let me.”

Again, there’s nothing rushed about the way Stiles carefully unbuttons Derek’s pants, slides them down his legs, supports him while he steps out of them. It’s a slow, building excitement, a simmer rather than a burn, and there’s something about the quiet intensity of it that makes Stiles shiver all over.

“I’m going to suck you,” he tells Derek, who shudders deliciously. Stiles decides to expand; Erica has always liked his dirty talk, and there’s no reason why Derek won’t too. “You’d like that, right?” he offers, and Derek, for all his fierce orders, gulps and nods.

Stiles pulls down his boxers, and just fucking enjoys the sight of Derek’s cock for a few moments. “Oh God, I have to get this inside me,” he says. His eyes flicker up to Derek’s face. “Afterwards, I think,” he continues. “Right now, I just want to have you in my mouth. I want to feel you, I want to feel you hot and fucking desperate. Desperate for me, Derek, because you are, right? You’re desperate to have my mouth on you, right?”

“Right,” Derek says huskily, and Stiles swallows him down.

Oh, _fuck_ , he’s so big, and Stiles can feel the blood rushing through him. He wraps his tongue around Derek’s shaft, licks and sucks and drags his mouth everywhere, while above him Derek gasps and moans, swallowing back his cries.

“Oh God,” he pants. “Oh God, _Stiles_ —”

Stiles draws back, just for a moment, his breath coming fast over Derek’s groin. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, and where the fuck did that come from? “That’s it, you can do it, don’t come, Derek, if I can’t then you can’t, Derek, Derek…”

Derek smothers a cry, and Stiles gives his cock a long languorous lick. On the bed, Erica sighs contentedly. She’s watching them, eyes fastened on Derek’s dick with a fierce determination. Stiles finds himself smiling around his mouthful of cock.

He moves his head away from Derek’s groin, looking mischievously up at Derek. “Erica’s missing out,” he points out.

“Can’t… have that…” Derek pants. “Just… please—”

Stiles plunges forward, taking Derek deep into his throat, and Derek emits a deep, guttural groan that rumbles through his entire body. Slowly, Stiles pulls back, his tongue dragging across Derek’s cock and lapping at the sensitive tip. Derek makes little mewling sounds the entire time that make hot waves of pleasure rush, tingling, across Stiles’ skin.

“Okay,” Derek says, obviously trying to sound less desperate than he is. “Okay, Stiles—”

Stiles stands up, as smoothly as he can manage. Derek’s eyes are like hot liquid. “Tell me,” he says. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Derek makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, reaching out to touch Stiles’ bare chest as though he’s afraid that Stiles isn’t real. His touch sends shivers running down Stiles’ spine. “Get on the bed,” Derek says, his voice just a little choked. “Erica… Touch her. God, Stiles, let me see you touch her—”

Erica moans softly as Stiles clambers onto the bed, settled himself between her legs. She’s still wearing the purple lace underwear, the fabric dark with the signs of her own enjoyment. Gently, Stiles tugs it down, exposing her flat abdomen, her thatch of dark curls, her quivering thighs. She smiles up at him, lazy in her desire. “I knew this was a good idea,” she says hazily.

Stiles bends forwards and presses his mouth to her clit.

Erica screams.

Derek practically _purrs_.

Stiles has had long experience with exactly what Erica likes in bed; he pushes his tongue just inside her, licking upward in long smooth strokes that have her shuddering and crying out underneath him. He pauses, looking up at her; her eyes are shut, her fingers tangled in her hair.

“My mouth has been on Derek,” he murmurs to her, and she moans aloud. “I had Derek’s cock in my mouth. I can taste you both.” Behind him, Derek makes another of those deep, tortured sounds.

“Can I – Stiles, can I—?” he whimpers. “Can I touch you? Please?”

“Fuck, yes,” Stiles says indistinctly, the words blurring into the movements of his lips on Erica’s soft skin. She writhes underneath him, and Stiles feels Derek’s hands ghosting over his hips.

He’d thought Derek wanted to touch his dick – and he certainly wouldn’t have been complaining about that – but the way Derek is lifting his ass up, while still leaving his head down between Erica’s legs, suggests that he has something else in mind. Stiles can feel himself trembling just at the idea. He’d said, after all, that he wanted Derek to fuck him.

Very, very gently, Derek presses a kiss to the crease of Stiles’ ass; Stiles yelps, burrowing his face into Erica’s pussy. She whines deliciously, thrusting her hips up to meet him as his pace increases.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Derek…” Stiles moans, because, fuck, _yes_ , those are Derek’s hands spreading him, and that, that—

That’s Derek’s tongue, darting between his cheeks and pressing against Stiles’ tight hole, and it’s such a glorious, brilliant, _delicious_ fucking feeling that Stiles hums with pleasure, writhing and licking and rubbing himself against the covers. Derek’s hands have tightened around the backs of Stiles’ thighs, blunt nails digging into the flesh, and everything is hazy and sparkling, like fireworks, like nothing but pure sensation, because Derek is licking him, Derek is sucking and kissing with sloppy wet sounds that ring through Stiles’ overloaded body, and he can only respond by passing on the pleasure to Erica, so that she’s gasping and thrashing and crying out under his touch.

“Lube?” Derek gasps out, sounding breathless and desperate and pretty much fucking _wrecked_ , which is a coincidence since that’s exactly how Stiles is feeling.

Stiles lifts his head enough to point frantically towards his bedside table. “Top drawer,” he puffs, and bends his head to apply his tongue to Erica’s clit again.

He moans when Derek’s hands and mouth leave him; he’s taut and ready, wanting more and more, wanting to be filled up, to be fucking held and used and loved—

There’s a squelching sound, presumably Derek opening the bottle of lube, and then a beat, and then something cold touches Stiles’ ass, and Derek pushes a finger inside him. Stiles, every inch of him over-sensitised, shudders and groans, leaning back into Derek’s touch. He’s hot and sweaty, and the motion forces Derek’s finger deeper into his ass, pressing against his prostate for a quick delicious second. Stiles moans aloud.

“ _Please_ —” he says frantically, and Derek obliges, adding a second finger, scissoring them, stretching Stiles out.

He’s not doing it to give Stiles pleasure; that much is immediately obvious. He’s prepping Stiles as quickly as he can, obviously desperate to get his cock inside him, and the thought of that – of Derek’s urgency, his need to fuck Stiles, to be inside Stiles – is fucking intoxicating. Stiles pushes back against his fingers, gasping every time they brush his prostate, and sucking an orgasm out of Erica quite by accident.

He only becomes aware of it when she screeches: “ _Stiles_!” and grabs his hair, her fingers clenching around it as her body convulses on the bed. Erica’s orgasms tend to be beautifully violent. For a moment, Derek’s fingers still, his body sagging against Stiles as he takes in the view; then, as Erica settles, sighing, into the mattress, he resumes fingering Stiles’ ass.

“God, Erica,” Stiles pants. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Oh, darling,” she says dreamily, opening her big eyes to look rather unsteadily down at him. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

⚥⚥

Stiles actually doesn’t think he’s ever been quite as happy as he is right now, right here in this exact moment, curled up between Erica and Derek on his double bed, drifting in that pleasant haze just between sleep and wakefulness, as spent as he’s ever been.

God, Derek had _fucked_ him. _Derek_ , Hot Dude, the guy he’s been fantasising about for way too long, had fucked him. He’d pressed slowly inside Stiles, filling him up, stretching him wide, making Stiles groan. It felt like he was being split apart, like he was dying, but in the best way.

He’d sat on the edge of the bed, Stiles in his lap, his warm sweaty chest pressed tight to Stiles’ back. Stiles found himself gasping like he was drowning, pushing himself down onto Derek’s cock until they were melded so close together that it felt as though they were one person, Derek’s arms clamped around his middle, his nails scraping down Stiles’ sides.

That was when Erica joined them, straddling Stiles and lowering herself onto his hard, pulsing length. The feeling… It was fucking indescribable, having them both there, sandwiched around him, all muscles and flesh and hands everywhere. Erica kissed him, her mouth raw and hungry, her tongue sloppy, and her breasts pushed up against him. Every time she moved, Derek rocked against his ass, like every part of him that could possibly be filled _was_ being filled.

Derek took Erica’s hips in a vice-like grip, moving her up and down on Stiles’ cock, so that she cried and shuddered her way to another orgasm, and Stiles was reduced to a pile of jelly, only held up by the two of them on either side of him.

“God – please – Derek—” he sobbed out, leaning backwards so that his head rested on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek’s mouth was right by his ear, his breath hot on Stiles’ neck. “Tell me,” he groaned, sounding just as wrecked as Stiles felt, although how could he be? How could that be possible? “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come,” Stiles said immediately. “Please – let me come.”

Derek rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, looking up at Erica; she leaned forward to kiss him. “Let him come,” she moaned. “We should… all of us…”

“Yes,” Derek said, his voice hoarse and so, so fucking sexy, and that just pretty much did it for Stiles.

His orgasm hit him like a fucking train, speeding through him like he was breaking into a thousand pieces, shattering like crystal, sparkling into a million lights. He could feel Erica clenching around his cock, Derek grasping his hips, the three of them screaming and shuddering into intense climax, and then he was coming – coming – coming—

They were a fucking mess, afterwards. Stiles was so boneless, so weary, so satiated, that it was all he could do to clean himself up after Erica brought him a damp flannel from the bathroom. The sweat was cooling on his skin, exhaustion crashing over him, and he pulled Derek and Erica into bed with him, tucking himself between them just in time to fall asleep.

Now he’s semi-awake again, and the room is dark and still, and he can’t stop fucking smiling.

He looks down at Derek, softly snoring beside him, and it occurs to him that in all this gloriousness that they haven’t actually kissed yet.

Stiles intends to rectify that in the morning.

He falls asleep again with a grin on his face.

♂

When Stiles wakes up again, sunlight streaming through the gap in his curtains, Erica stirs sleepily by his side. He looks over to the warm space where, last he’d looked, Derek had been curled up beside him.

The space is empty. Derek is gone.


	2. See You Again

Derek doesn’t come back to the coffee shop for nine days.

Not that Stiles is counting.

At first, when he woke up, he couldn’t quite believe that Derek had actually left. He got up blearily, going to check the bathroom and the kitchen. Then he thought that maybe Derek had left his number somewhere, so he’d gone back again to check all the surfaces.

He hadn’t left his number.

It should have been the best morning-after ever; beautifully sore, satisfied, sexed-out. Instead, Stiles felt as though there was a leaden lump in his stomach.

Why had Derek just left like that? Why hadn’t he so much as said goodbye, thanks for the sex? Was it Stiles? The night had been fucking sensational; it didn’t make any sense.

Erica, when she awoke, felt similarly hurt.

“Fuck him,” she said forcefully. “Don’t let him make you feel like crap, Stiles, that was epic. Don’t let him take that away from you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said. “I just…” He trailed off. It was ridiculous to say that he _liked_ Derek, that he’d been hoping to see him again; after all, they hadn’t set any parameters for communication outside of that single night. But he’d felt something so… _electric_ with Derek, and he’d been so sure that Derek had felt it too.

It was different for Erica. She’d enjoyed herself, had awesome sex, sure. But she wasn’t in love with Stiles, and she wasn’t in love with Derek. Whereas Stiles…

Fuck. People don’t fall in love after one night together. Stiles decided that he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He was just going to get on with his life.

So nine days later, he’s sitting in the coffee shop, drinking some concoction of sugar and cream and chocolate sprinkles, and ignoring his brownie as per usual. His current client is being particularly difficult about an Archaic Latin translation that Stiles provided, which is ridiculous, because he outsourced it to Lydia and Lydia doesn’t make mistakes. He’s right in the middle of composing a polite yet firm email to the client explaining as much, when the door of the coffee shop opens, and Derek walks in.

By now, Stiles has stopped looking up every time the door opens, and his heart barely jumps when he hears somebody coming in. It’s been nine days; Derek has made it pretty clear that he’s not coming back, and Stiles – Stiles isn’t here to see him, okay?

When he told Erica that, she snorted. “If you want to see him so much, go and visit his shop,” she said. “It’s not far.”

“No,” Stiles said obstinately. “If he wanted to see me, he would.”

Erica sighed, her mouth tightening. Stiles knew that she was pissed about the way Derek had disappeared on them; she felt it was bad sex etiquette, and she would know. “Okay,” she said, which was probably the closest Stiles was going to get to agreement from her.

No, Stiles was not going to go and see Derek at his shop. Okay, maybe a small part of him was hoping that Derek would come back to the coffee shop Monday morning, that there would be some explanation, some reason… but by the time Wednesday rolled around, Stiles had stopped hoping. Derek was an ass, but he wasn’t an ass who was going to drive Stiles away from his favourite coffee shop.

So, of course, it’s exactly at the point that he’s stopped waiting to see Derek that Derek actually arrives.

Stiles only sees him because he happens to be looking up when the door opens. For a moment, Derek just stands in the doorway, eyes locked on Stiles’, brows flat and mouth slightly open. Then Stiles forces his eyes back to the screen of his laptop, because he’s not going to give Derek the satisfaction of knowing what an effect he’s having.

Stiles’ knees are trembling, and his breath is coming in short, hard pants. “Dick,” he mutters fiercely under his breath, because that’s what Derek _is_ , amazing sex or no. He is _not_ going to have a panic attack over such an asshole.

Derek orders his usual, and goes to sit at his normal table with his paper. It’s as though nothing has happened between them at all, as if they’re back to the time when Derek was Hot Dude, some nameless guy that Stiles had a crush on, and it pisses him off.

Why should Derek just get to walk in here like nothing happened? Like he didn’t leave in the middle of the night like a fucking thief? Why should he get to stamp all over Stiles’ heart like it doesn’t matter?

Okay, yeah, he’ll admit it: he’d been hoping that that night might be the start of something. Maybe having a threesome isn’t the most conventional way to start a relationship, but Stiles has never been the most conventional guy in the world. And Derek had been so fucking up for it! He’d seen it was Stiles, and he’d come anyway. Like he wanted him.

Maybe he’d just wanted to torture the irritating guy who always started up weird conversations in the coffee shop. Maybe he’s a one-night-stand kind of guy. Maybe he’s been laughing at Stiles the whole time.

Whatever the truth, it’s not fucking right, and Stiles is so done.

So _fucking_ done.

He stands up shakily, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. Derek lifts his head, a slightly wary expression on his face, like he’s not sure what Stiles is doing.

Well, good. He _should_ be wary.

Stiles sucks in a breath, because he’s not going to fuck this up by crying or having a panic attack all over it, and marches over to Derek’s table.

“Hey,” he says loudly.

Derek lowers his paper. “Hi,” he says guardedly.

Stiles scoffs. “Oh, so you _do_ know how to speak, huh?” he says. “Because, you know, the way you snuck off in the dead of night would suggest otherwise.”

“Um,” Derek says, his cheeks filling with colour. His eyes flicker from left to right; Stiles is speaking extremely loudly, and a few people are looking curiously towards them.

Stiles, however, doesn’t give a shit. “You know, dude, I don’t know what your deal is,” he says. “But fucking off after sex is not cool. If you didn’t want to see me again, fine.” It’s not, but Derek doesn’t have to know that. “You don’t have to run away. It’s bad etiquette,” he finishes, remembering what Erica said.

Derek is frowning at him, looking a little puzzled. “What?” he says.

“Don’t,” Stiles says firmly, holding up a hand. “Do not even pretend. You just fucking left. You didn’t say goodbye. Who does that?”

“I—” Derek says. He bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you should be,” Stiles says, his voice sounding as defeated as he feels. “I actually fucking liked you.”

Then he turns and walks back to his table. He doesn’t know if Derek watches him go; as soon as he sits down, he glues his eyes to his laptop, determined that he’s not going to look over to Derek’s table again.

When he finally does give into temptation, Derek is gone.

♂

When he calls Erica to tell her about Derek, she has other news, and he can’t bring himself to burden her with his crap. She’s already had to put up with him moping over Derek for nine days, after all.

“Boyd asked me out!” she tells him excitedly over the phone, and despite his weary loneliness, Stiles finds a smile for her; she’s been waiting for this for so long.

“Oh my God, dude takes his time,” he says, because come on, it’s him.

He can hear Erica’s smile. “Shut up,” she says. She hesitates. “He said he was intimidated by me,” she says wonderingly. “He thought I wouldn’t say yes.”

“Called it,” Stiles says immediately. He laughs. “Seriously, Erica, I’m really happy for you. Even if Boyd is a fucking idiot.”

“Trust me, I’ve already told him,” Erica says. “Oh, God, Stiles, I’m such a fucking sap, but I’m so happy. He’s, like…” She trails off, obviously unable to quite describe what Boyd means to her, but Stiles thinks he gets it.

He was beginning to look at Derek that way. Which makes him an idiot. But that doesn’t stop it from being true.

♂

Stiles kind of figures that Derek won’t come back to the coffee shop the following day, having been soundly told off in front of all the patrons the day before. After he’d left, a couple of people had actually come over to tell Stiles that they thought he was brave, which was admittedly kind of nice. He figures that with crowd opinion so against him, Derek will stay well away.

He’s wrong. Derek comes in the next day as though nothing has gone amiss, although he surely can’t miss the narrowed eyes several of the regulars direct at him. Stiles, as irritating as he knows himself to be, is generally well-liked in the coffee shop; his former advances on Derek had been viewed with good humour, and his tendency to give whoever happens to be sitting nearest his abandoned brownie right before he leaves has won him friends.

Derek doesn’t look in Stiles’ direction, and Stiles very determinedly keeps his head down. This results in an extremely productive morning’s work, although inside Stiles feels as though his heart is breaking in half. Which is way too dramatic for a Tuesday morning.

After half an hour, Derek folds up his newspaper and leaves. An elderly woman sitting at a nearby table leans over and pats Stiles on the arm.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she says sympathetically. “It’ll get better.”

Stiles smiles woodenly at her, and makes sure that she gets his brownie when he leaves. When he gets home, he sits in the shower for an hour and a half, struggling to breathe, his chest burning and his eyes streaming.

Part of him wishes he and Derek had never had sex in the first place, which is probably the healthiest headspace he could be in right now, all things considered.

The other part of him, unhealthy and desperately romantic, just wishes Derek had so much as _looked_ at him in the coffee shop that morning.

⚤

He lasts six days before he tells Erica.

“You talked to him?” she says, surprisingly sympathetic. It’s early Monday morning, and after nearly a week of being completely ignored by Derek every day, Stiles hadn’t been able to face going to the coffee shop. He’d headed to Erica’s instead, joining her and Boyd for a cooked breakfast.

Boyd is washing up the dishes like the champion he is, so Erica and Stiles are sat at the kitchen table while he explains the situation to her. Erica has about six hickeys on her neck and chest, and she’s wearing Boyd’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up so you can see the red rope burns on her wrists. Whatever his insecurities, Boyd is clearly able to keep up with her in the kink department.

Stiles is glad. He’s not sure they would have worked otherwise; Erica is _extremely_ kinky.

He shrugs at Erica’s question. “I guess I figured he’d say something. Explain himself, or whatever.” He smiles weakly. “Pretty stupid, right?”

“Fucking dick,” Erica says fiercely, because she’s fucking awesome. “God. What time is it?”

Boyd looks at his watch. “Almost nine,” he says calmly. Everything Boyd does tends to be calm.

“I want to go and give him a talk of my own,” Erica says. “Who does he think he is? He’s been fucking torturing you for months—”

Boyd dries his hands, coming to sit with them. “I thought you only slept with him a couple of weeks ago,” he says.

“I knew him before,” Stiles explains. “We used to see each other in the coffee shop.”

Erica huffs angrily. “He led you on,” she declares, even though Stiles isn’t sure how true that is, “and I’m not having it.”

“Okay,” Boyd says, nodding. He really is completely awesome. “I’ll drive.”

Stiles seriously has some of the best friends. He still feels kind of shaky at the thought of seeing Derek; he’s had a few more panic attacks since that first one a week ago, just remembering the feel of Derek’s large hands gripping his wrists, the slide of his fingers down Stiles’ back, the hot wet touch of his tongue in Stiles’ ass…

It’s fucking torture. And maybe Erica giving him a verbal shakedown is exactly what Stiles needs to move on.

Derek never even kissed him.

Erica sits in the back of the car with him, holding Stiles’ hand. She must be able to feel how hard his heart is beating, but she doesn’t say anything about it. Boyd turns the radio on, and Erica sings along to One Direction as they drive into town.

When they get there, Boyd stops directly outside the coffee shop. “I’ll park,” he says.

“Thanks, baby,” Erica says happily. She leans into the front seat to kiss him, which is kind of gross, but also sweet. The thing with Erica is she’s totally volatile, and totally all over the place, so Boyd’s brand of steadiness is kind of fucking perfect for her.

Stiles makes himself stop thinking before he starts straying into ideas about how perfect he and _Derek_ would be together, because clearly a guy who can ignore him as thoroughly as Derek has been doing for the past few days isn’t perfect for anyone.

Derek is already in the coffee shop, sitting at his usual table with his back to the door, which makes sense; Stiles is usually here much earlier than this. For a moment, Stiles just looks at his back, his head bowed over his paper, and his hand tightens around Erica’s wrist.

“Erica,” he mutters. “I can’t do this.”

She lifts her chin. “You don’t have to,” she says calmly. “I am.”

Her voice is carrying, and slowly – as though he’s uncertain of what he’s heard – Derek lift his head, turning around. When he sees Erica and Stiles, he actually flinches.

Erica raises her eyebrows, marching over with all of the spirit and none of the nerves as Stiles had nearly a week ago. Stiles follows more slowly, all too aware of the potential for violence that Erica’s about to unleash. Erica is an excellent friend, but she’s not the sort of person you want to cross.

“Hello,” Derek says warily.

“You remember me, then?” Erica says crisply, and that’s when Stiles remembers that it’s not just him that Derek walked out on. It may not affect Erica in quite the same way, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t left her vulnerable.

Derek sighs like he knows what’s coming. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Erica demands. She wheels around to gesture at Stiles. “Look at him!”

Stiles folds his arms awkwardly and tries to look anywhere other than at Derek and Erica. Unfortunately, that puts him in the line of sight of several extremely interested regulars, many of whom wink at him.

He can’t help but notice that Derek, upon Erica’s instruction, is looking at him intently. He lifts his eyes, meeting Derek’s, and against all instinct, a throb of desire pulses through him. Stiles feels a lump rising in his throat.

Erica is jabbing a finger in Derek’s chest. “You did that,” she says fiercely. “You led him on. It’s not okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, sounding pained. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” Erica says in a tone of finality. She turns around, her blonde hair tossing over her shoulder. “Stiles, where’s your usual table?”

Stiles points silently. Erica regards it with narrowed eyes. “I want a cappuccino,” she says to Derek. “You almost certainly know what Stiles likes to drink.” She leans in dangerously close. “You owe us, and I think this is the least you can do, don’t you?”

“Um,” Derek says, looking alarmed. “Okay.”

“Oh, and an orange juice,” Erica adds, because Boyd is a freak who doesn’t drink tea or coffee. Then she flounces off perfectly to the empty table, her hair streaming behind her. Several of the regulars applaud. Derek glowers as he heads over to the counter.

Stiles slinks after her and sits down.

“God, I’m so pissed off,” Erica says bluntly. “I don’t think I realised it before.”

Stiles looks over at Derek. “I think you told him,” he says quietly. Behind the counter, the normally cheery redhead is serving Derek with a mutinous expression on her face. Stiles hadn’t realised quite how much they like him here, but then he supposes that’s what happens when you come to the same coffee shop every day.

“Looks like they were all rooting for the two of you,” Erica says airily, following the line of his gaze. “Derek’s an asshole.”

“I know,” Stiles says unhappily.

Derek may be an asshole, but he’s an asshole who delivers free coffee, so Stiles thinks he can forgive him just a little. The real pang comes when he takes the brownie off the tray and sets it in front of Stiles, because Erica didn’t ask him to buy a brownie. That’s just not fucking fair.

Stiles looks up at him. “You’re doing it again,” he says quietly.

Derek swallows and looks away. “Sorry,” he says, and retreats to his own table.

Fortunately for everyone, and in particular Erica’s blood pressure, Boyd comes into the coffee shop at that point; Erica waves him over, and Stiles prepares to be distracted. He has his laptop; with his friends at his side, he might actually be able to get some work done. He refuses to be kicked out of his favourite place just because Derek’s an ass who won’t leave, but Erica’s awesomeness means that he feels like he has a bit of safety net.

Fuck. Derek is running a hand through his hair. Stiles’ jeans suddenly feel tight.

Erica pushes the orange juice across the table to Boyd; Derek’s gaze flickers over, and then quickly back down to his newspaper. Stiles swallows. Maybe they’re intimidating him; a small, petty part of him kind of hopes so.

Boyd wraps an arm around Erica’s shoulder, kissing her on the temple. She leans her head on his shoulder. “I told him off,” she says drowsily.

“You were amazing,” Stiles says warmly, because it’s true.

Boyd leans down to kiss her. “I’m sure you were, baby,” he says soothingly.

There’s an almighty crash from behind them as Derek stands up so quickly that his chair falls over, his newspaper held so tightly in his hands that it’s tearing between his shaking fingers.

Erica and Boyd turn around, staring; Stiles, from his position, has the perfect view. Derek’s mouth is slightly open, and he’s trembling.

He’s also looking straight at Stiles.

“Derek?” Stiles says cautiously.

Derek’s eyes are moving frantically between him, Erica and Boyd. “You—” he begins, and then stops.

Stiles frowns. Derek takes a step forward. Stiles stands up, moving warily around the table. “Okay, dude, I don’t like you much right now, but you’re freaking me out,” he says. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest for some stupid fucking reason. “What’s the matter?”

Derek drops his newspaper. His hand flaps vaguely toward Erica and Boyd. “They’re – they’re together,” he says, his voice stilted and awkward.

“Um,” Stiles says, turning around to look at Erica. She looks just as mystified as he feels. He turns back to Derek. “Yes?”

“I—” Derek stops and clears his throat. “I thought… you two—”

“Wait a fucking second,” Erica says loudly, and a nearby middle-aged woman – hanging onto Derek’s every word, the same way the entire fucking coffee shop is – gasps audibly. Erica turns on her irritably. “As if this isn’t better than fucking _Days Of Our Lives_ ,” she scoffs. She looks back at Derek, her head tilted to one side. “Did you think Stiles and I were _together_?”

You could hear a pin drop in the place.

Derek looks absolutely stricken. He jerks his head in a single nod.

“You fucking _moron_ ,” Erica says.

“You… you’re single?” Derek whispers. He sounds horrified.

Stiles’ mouth is hanging open of its own accord. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek hisses.

⚣

Stiles feels kind of like he’s doing the ice bucket challenge again, and that had been no picnic the first time around. He’s frozen with shock, unable to do anything except just _stare_ at Derek.

“Are you saying that you… that you ran off because you thought—” He stops abruptly, because even now remembering how it had felt to wake up to an empty bed – well, apart from Erica, but she didn’t count – is painful.

Derek bites his lip. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and this time he sounds like he really, really fucking means it. “I’m so, _so_ fucking sorry. I – I hated leaving. I didn’t want to.”

“Why didn’t you just _ask_?” Stiles bursts out, because seriously? This whole thing could have been avoided if Derek had just opened his fucking mouth.

Derek looks down at his feet. “I’m not very good at asking,” he mumbles.

“No shit,” Erica says sarcastically. Boyd puts a calming hand on her shoulder, and she subsides.

Stiles sighs. “You _are_ a moron,” he says. He drops his head, rubbing his eyes. “ _Fuck_. Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been here every fucking day!”

“I thought…” Derek swallows. “I thought you were mad because I’d got between you and… Erica.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for assuming shit,” Stiles says bitterly. “Meanwhile I’ve been here, head over fucking heels like an _idiot_ , and you’ve just been sitting there with your stupid fucking _newspaper_ …”

Derek takes a single step forward. There’s something warm in his eyes that Stiles doesn’t understand, but nevertheless it makes his heart feel like it’s beating double-time. “Did you say head over heels?” Derek asks softly.

Stiles considers, very briefly, throwing Erica’s cappuccino at him. “Please, _please_ tell me that that’s not new information,” he says. “Literally everyone in this fucking café knows that I’m stupidly gone for you.”

“That’s true,” the elderly lady who spoke to Stiles before pipes up, nodding enthusiastically. Apparently the other patrons of the coffee shop aren’t even pretending not to be avidly listening to the unfolding drama.

“Oh,” Derek says, and kisses him.

For a few moments, everything around them just falls away, because in all of Stiles’ life there have been _no_ kisses like this.

It’s hot, and tender, with Derek’s hands cupping his face, and Derek’s mouth soft and warm against his own, his dark stubble scratching across Stiles’ cheeks. He can feel Derek’s fingers sliding up the back of his neck, nails running into his hairline, thumbs pressing against his jaw, and he just sighs into the kiss, falls into it, lets it take over his entire fucking world until there’s nothing left except Derek, Derek’s hands, Derek’s mouth, Derek’s tongue…

Slowly, reluctantly, Stiles pulls away. Derek is still holding his face, and there’s something desperate and painfully hopeful in his eyes.

“I’m still mad at you,” Stiles says.

“I know,” Derek says. “I’m sorry.” He kisses Stiles again, just the briefest ghost of his lips on Stiles’. “I don’t… have a lot of experience with this,” he says, very quietly.

Stiles frowns. “With what? Guys?”

“Anyone,” Derek says. “People don’t… like me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” the elderly lady says warmly. “You’re not so bad!”

The girl behind the counter flaps her hands. “Shh!” she says. “Don’t interrupt!”

Stiles ignores them both. “God knows why,” he says slowly, “but I like you.”

Derek smiles, and it’s brilliant. “I like you too,” he says.

“I don’t like you,” Erica says clearly. Derek looks over Stiles’ shoulder, frowning in consternation. She folds her arms across his chest. “You’re going to have to treat Stiles properly for a long time before I like you. And buy me cheesecake.” She glares at him. “ _Lots_ of cheesecake.”

“Erica has a thing about cheesecake,” Stiles explains.

“Alright,” Derek says seriously. He turns back to Stiles. And hesitates.

It takes about a split second for Stiles to decide that, yes, he forgives Derek enough to kiss him again. It seems to be pretty fucking clear that the dude has Issues, but then, so does Stiles, and quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit.

“Stiles?” Derek says.

Stiles pulls back breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Um,” Derek says, looking around. “Can we—?”

He has a point; the entire coffee shop is still watching them avidly. Stiles shakes his head, grinning because fuck it, he can. “Yeah,” he says.

A round of searing applause, and Erica’s raucous laughter, follow them out of the coffee shop and onto the street. The sun is shining, and Stiles looks into Derek’s warm delighted face, and thinks, _yeah_.

This is it.

♡


End file.
